


Colors Bold and Bright

by imperfectkreis



Series: Monuments [2]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: First Time, Fluff and Angst, Grinding, Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-17
Updated: 2015-12-12
Packaged: 2018-05-02 04:24:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5233967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imperfectkreis/pseuds/imperfectkreis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sole Survivor Vishnu Weiss is pretty confident he knows what he wants. He's also fairly sure that Paladin Danse is less confident about the whole situation. They meet somewhere in the middle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The way Danse’s mouth falls at the corners makes Weiss’ chest ache. Like he's too empty and full at the same time. Weiss knows the feeling well enough, he's known it since he first laid eyes on the Brotherhood Paladin. He wants to kiss the frown away, even if it's...innocent, friendly. Because it's fine to kiss your friends senseless until they smile, right?

Two-hundred years ago he tried the same thing, with his bunkmate right out of basic, Nate. Oh, God, Nate. Weiss can't forget the cryo chamber across from his. No matter how much he throws himself into every useless project.

So long ago, Weiss kissed Nate, loose and friendly at first, coaxed his mouth open, whispering, “Okay, you're okay, just breathe. I'll help you.”

Nate stayed in the army for years. Weiss was kicked out after two weeks. Kept Nate close, though. And he still wears “Dishonorable Discharge” like a Medal of Honor. But Danse doesn't know about that.

Weiss spins the wedding band around his finger. He still hasn't taken it off.

Danse sleeps on the other cot, his chest rising and falling a he sleeps. They're alone at the police station, the others out on assignment. In the morning, they leave too, when the others get back.

Weiss can’t sleep, curling his knees to his chest. His legs are too long for the bed anyway.

What's the worst that can happen, if he gets into bed alongside Danse? That he’ll get rejected? Told to fuck off? He laughs quietly into the darkness at the idea of being told to fuck himself for trying to fuck Danse. That wouldn't happen. He couldn't imagine Danse being so crude.

The floorboards under his feet are cold, and they creak, but not as much as the mattress when Weiss climbs in next to Danse. Side by side, they barely fit. He throws his arm around Danse’s waist, pressing his lips to the back of his neck, right where his short-cropped hair ends, and skin begins. God, the first time he saw Danse out of his suit. When they were doing repairs in the sunlight. He'd still been fully clothed in fatigue pants and a longsleeve shirt, pushed up to the elbows because it was too hot. Weiss had nearly acted then. Just at the sight of more pale skin than he could easily stomach.

Danse doesn't protest, but it might be that he's still asleep. But he's warm and sturdy against Weiss’ chest, the shudder of his breaths moving through Weiss’ body like crashing waves.

Weiss kisses the back of his neck again, this time whispering, “Danse.”

He can feel Danse wake, start to stir, then still in surprise. Danse doesn't know what's going on. Maybe he doesn't even know where he is.

“Weiss?”

“Yeah.”

“You're in my bed.”

“Yeah.”

“Right.”

To be fair, Weiss’ affections shouldn't come completely out of the blue. He'd dropped hints, some of them less subtle than others, that Danse is attractive, desirable, that, say, maybe Weiss desires him. God does he want him. In a primal sort of way, angles and muscles and great fucking posture, but because he's a good man too. Upstanding, forthright, a man of conviction. A bunch of things Weiss isn't sure others would say about him. Him? He's a liar and a bit of a cheat. But he's not bad. And it can't be bad to want Danse this much.

“I'm going to turn to face you,” Danse announces. Weiss loosens his grip so he can.

Once they’re face to face, Weiss smiles, big and bright and hopefully charming as hell. “And if I kiss you?”

Danse narrows his eyes, but he's not tense anymore. “You want to?”

“Of course.”

Weiss’ feet tap against the metal foot of the bed, making the whole cot shake. They're bound to slide off if they’re not careful with their movements. He thinks of the big bed he used to have, with plenty of room for two. The things he would do to Danse, given the opportunity. Hell, if he thought he'd have a shot, Weiss would do them now. But he knows well enough Danse isn't that sort of man.

“Yes, I suppose, kissing would be...welcome.”

Weiss isn't careful enough, the way he lunges towards Danse with his teeth exposed, cracking into Danse’s mouth. He's too excited, too rough, and Danse is still cautious. Weiss’ leg keeps shaking the bed. He can't help it. When Danse’s lips push back against his, he’s filled with such abrupt elation he wants to scream, scream, scream.

Instead he whimpers, fisting his hands in Danse’s thin shirt, trying to move as quickly as he can manage between Danse’s thighs. Danse doesn't protest when Weiss rolls him onto his back, chasing his lips and refusing to break apart. Danse spreads his legs around Weiss’ hips and trails his fingers along Weiss’ stomach, just where his shirt rides up from the friction between their bodies.

Danse’s mouth is wet, hot, sweet, yielding, all the sorts of things Weiss has missed about living. God, has he been living since he woke up? Sure, he's been bleeding and hating, lying, charming, all those things he has do to survive. But this is better, this is pleasure. He puts one hand flat against Danse’s chest, trailing lower with his fingers. This, he's going to make this so good. Danse’s body is hard everywhere, fucking everywhere. His arms, his chest, his fucking thighs. Breaking him apart, making him scream and writhe is going to be such utter heaven.

Moving his lips off of Danse’s, Weiss aims for his neck next, pale from being always covered, still hard, but vulnerable. Weiss tries to push his hand lower between their bodies, but Danse grabs hold of his wrist in one big hand, big enough to wrap all the way around and close his grip on the other side. “

Slow down, okay.” 

When Weiss pulls back to look at Danse, his light eyes are big, glassy. He's aroused, definitely. Weiss can feel Danse’s erection digging into his stomach, bumping up against his own if he shifts just right. They both want this. Obviously, right? So why stop?

“Danse,” Weiss’ voice sits just on the other edge of a threat. 

“Just, wait. Wait.” He pulls Weiss’ arm away, deliberately planting Weiss’ hand on the other side of his shoulder. Lifting his neck, Danse kisses Weiss, though it's brief, almost like an apology. “You’re not ready. I'm not ready.”

Weiss doesn't want to argue. But he also doesn't want to be found wrong.


	2. Chapter 2

Weiss is back in his own cot by morning, though he spent a long, drowsy hour holding onto Danse, listening to him breathe, feeling him shift against him. All hard patches, smooth skin where the armor covers, protects. 

Staring up at the patchwork ceiling again. Weiss thinks about being very still, utterly silent. He thinks about being six feet under. Back at 111, Nate is still upright in his pod. Dead, decaying, decimated. At the time, when Weiss had gotten out. He'd been so terrified, disoriented. He'd stumbled to his husband’s body, pulled off his matching ring with trembling fingers.

In a moment of abject insanity, Weiss had thought about eating the ring, swallowing it down and having it break apart in his digestive tract, making it a part of him. Forever and ever. Standing in front of Nate’s defrosting body, he'd gotten as far as putting the ring in his mouth, the taste of inert gold shocking him back to his senses.

He puts his hand over his chest, where Nate’s ring hangs under his shirt. God. Nate.

Danse is already up, so it must be sometime before dawn. Weiss is already an early riser, but Danse is really something else. If he didn't know better, Weiss would swear that Danse never sleeps. He waits. Weiss laughs at his own joke.

Sticking his head back through the door, Danse asks, “You’re up?” He's already kitted back up into his power armor, his head covered and his body looking considerably stockier. Well, Danse is sort of big, barrel chested in a distinctly masculine way. Weiss is still taller, but all willowy limbs descending from otherwise solid shoulders.

“Yeah,” Weiss turns his eyes back to the ceiling, pretending the uneven patches are clouds. “I'm up.” That much is self evident. 

He dresses in his leathers, pulling on his armor piece by piece, clicking metals and plastics into place. It's not pretty, his collection, but it keeps him mostly safe. Before he heads out to the lobby, he takes two mentats to chase the headaches away. Makes his mind race, faster, faster, before petering off. He knows it’ll be back, though, the rush of utter alertness, when he needs it most.

In the lobby of the station, Danse hands him a bowl of something lukewarm. It's soup, watery and meaty at the same time, and terrible. Weiss misses MacCready’s cooking already. He's not sure he can choke this slop down. 

“I'll just eat the irradiated crap, if it's all the same.” He fishes through his pack until he comes up with a double pack of Fancy Lads. One he offers to Danse, who goes right back to his disgusting stew.

“About last night,” Weiss licks away powdered sugar from his bottom lip. It melts with the finest touch of his saliva. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I don't think now is the appropriate time?” Danse keeps looking at the exterior doors. He's clearly worried the others will be back soon. That they’ll be caught out. Weiss almost hates to admit how much he likes the look of concern etched across Danse’s face. He likes the way Danse’s brow knits together, like he's really fucking thinking about saying something about Weiss crawling into bed with him, kissing him thoroughly, and trying to grab his cock.

Or maybe, guy like Danse would rather talk about why all that happened. Whatever it is that's going on between them. Weiss would just say it's electric, murmuring against Danse’s flesh that it's meant to be, has to be. Can't he feel it too? Doesn't it just make him ache? Makes Weiss ache, to be this close and not touch Danse. Restraint has never been one of Weiss’ virtues.

Weiss steps in. Snaking his hand around Danse’s neck, he slots his fingers between the metal of Danse’s chest plate and warm skin. Weiss curls his fingers, looking at Dance head on. Making sure neither can look away. He can feel every thump of Danse’s heart through the fine hairs at the back of his neck. All standing up on edge. Danse must feel it too.

“Scribe Haylen and Knight-”

“Will be back any minute,” Weiss finishes, “I know. I know. Just, let us have this moment.” He drops his forehead against Danse’s. It's warm, bordering on feverish, and a little sweaty. Power armor is stuffy, Weiss knows. Weiss hates the suits, feeling like a fucking sardine.

With Danse in his armor, they're the same height. Well, maybe Danse is an inch taller. No more. Weiss tilts his head to the side, kissing Danse more chastely than he would like, given the choice. Just lips at first, barely parted, then more. Danse tastes faintly of coppery blood. The bulk of the armor between them is less than ideal, forming a fortress around Dase that Weiss can't breach. But he slips his tongue past Danse’s teeth when his lips part. Danse pulls back half an inch, getting Weiss to chase him, catch him again in another kiss, smiling all along.

“You like that, right?” Weiss asks, his lips so close to Danse’s they brush against each other as they form words. He's been told he's good at speaking, a real natural, even if most of it has been lies. But needing to know Danse wants him, that's as honest as he's ever been. “Tell me you like it.”

Danse shudders the word, “Yes.”

Hearing the knob to the station door turn, Weiss takes two steps back. His hand at Danse’s neck is the last point of contact to break apart. It would embarrass Danse tremendously to be caught like this, vulnerable. His cheeks are still flushed, dark stubble barely hiding the red. Weiss thinks he's done well, judged right. Maybe Danse will chase him a little too, later though. Because Haylen comes through the door, her smile as vivid as Rhys’s scowl.

It's their turn to leave, trading one mission for the next, an endless stream of work to be done, stretching out into the distance. On the other side of infinity, the promise of a better world. Weiss is pretty sure he's stuck somewhere along the path. That's okay though, he's not alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I wasn't going to write another chapter of this but it seems like maybe people almost like it? And my SS is kind of a trainwreck but this came to me while doing laundry so, yeah.


	3. Chapter 3

Danse gives up on trying to keep Weiss from dragging his toes through the Charles. At every opportunity, Weiss strips off his boots and socks, rolling his slacks up past his shins, until his calf muscles grow too thick, and dips his feet. Doesn't matter one bit that the water is full of rads. Never was really clean, even before the bombs, when the world still looked shiny and new. That was all a facade. 

Weiss wonders about Danse, he really does. Because despite all the stubble and gruffness and faint scars, he seems too sheltered, too kind, too quick to believe. Weiss doesn't think Danse really hates synths, or ghouls, or even mutants. Only the Brotherhood got to Danse’s kindness, his inescapable love, first. They wove it into hatred for all the things Danse couldn't understand himself. Weiss worries that there's no love left for him, nothing to siphon away and keep for himself.

Sitting on the bank of the river, Weiss asks, “Is this everything you hoped it would be?”

Practical as ever, Danse responds, “The Commonwealth? It is much like I expected, given the early surveyor reports. But it is our mission to compile more detailed reports regarding-”

“No, I mean,” Weiss toes grow warm as the sunlight heats the shallow water. He can't see his feet through the murkiness. “When you were a child, is this the life you wanted?”

“I-” Danse hesitates, “I can't remember my childhood.”

Weiss is sure he's touched upon a sore subject. He doesn't press Danse further, instead rattling on about himself. “When I was little, I guess I wanted to be a scientist, like my parents. They met at university, you know?” There's no way for Danse to have known. “My mom came to Boston for school. She was all alone in America. No family, no friends. Just her big fucking brain. And my father,” Weiss smiles, “he loved her so much. He loved her so much, he couldn't bear the thought of her going home, even for the summer. Like someone would snatch her up, right out from under his nose. So, he married her before anyone else could get a fucking chance.”

Danse says nothing. Just stands next to Weiss, who keeps his ankles wet in water that'll make him sick before too long. Weiss wishes he would just sit down next to him.

“But the war started; I enlisted, because it was what we all did at eighteen. Signed up to fight the communists. You know,” of course Danse doesn't know. “My uncles all read Das Kapital, cover to cover. They believed in this thing, this communism. And I marched out to fight it.”

“But you didn't stay. You didn't believe, in America,” Danse finally interjects. 

Weiss has been leading Danse astray on the topic of his military career. Fishing his cigarette pack out of his back pocket, Weiss lights up. The filter a comfort against his lips. He drags and drags, formulating his response.

“That's not why I got kicked out. I wasn't a communist. Only, I believed in Nate more than I believed in America.” He wipes his palm across his eyes, stopping up welling emotion before it can burst. “He was so, so good. Handsome, all-American boy, you know? Shy and beautiful. And I was wretched. I couldn't give up on the idea of having him. So,” Weiss waves his hand, “I made the fraternization problem go away.”

He doesn't miss how Danse shivers at their shared sin, ‘fraternization.’ Only, this time, Weiss wants to get them both out, before the swamp of this Brotherhood smothers all the remaining light out of Danse.

“Don't just stand there, Danse. Sit with me?”

It takes several minutes for Danse to climb out of his power armor. The hiss of hydraulics unlocking loudly behind Weiss’ back. Danse stuffs his hood back into the suit, leaving his soft hair loose. The breeze rushes through it. Flaying it like tall grass. The grass doesn't grow like that anymore.

Weiss is genuinely surprised when Danse slides his feet into the water too. The hem of his pants gets wet. With thicker legs, his pants won't roll up as far, but he matches Weiss’ depth, a half-frown on his face when he realizes his error.

“We can't do this, Weiss. You're my subordinate.” Why does the fucking Brotherhood get to tell Danse who he can and cannot care for? Where and when he has to erect an impenetrable fence around his feelings? 

“That's no excuse,” Weiss asserts. “You hate this because you don't really want me. It's okay.” He puts his hand over Danse’s in the little patch of grass that has managed to survive the apocalypse. Their fingers twine in between each other’s. Weiss doesn't believe for a second that Danse doesn't want him. He can feel the desire in the air all around them. In every hitch of Danse’s breathing. In the cacophony of his own dreams, where Danse is open and willing. Begging for their affection to stretch on forever.

“I do. I do want you. If I didn't, I wouldn't,” Danse babbles.

Weiss smiles, leaning over and kissing Danse. Chaste at first, because each time takes time, until they pull at each other’s clothes. Fumbling with zippers and snaps and what really amounts to not enough protection in an always dangerous world. Weiss gets as far as scraping his yellowed nails across Danse’s bare chest before Danse stops him. Holding his wrist and murmuring, “I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I can't.”

Rolling beside Danse in the mixture of dirt and grass and fuck knows what else, Weiss won't release Danse’s hand. Their feet are still damp. Weiss is hard and aching for something, anything to snap. For the flood gates to open so he can finally touch what he already believes to be his. 

“It's the most beautiful day I've ever seen.”

“But you knew the world before it was ruined.”

Weiss will never understand this obsession with things Danse has never seen himself. “The ruin I'm responsible for?”

“You weren't responsible.” Danse doesn't let go of Weiss’ hand either.

“Of course I was. We all are.”

They watch the clouds for several minutes more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't a multichapter fic! I yell, while posting more chapters....


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are Blind Betrayal spoilers in this chapter. They're not explicit, though.

Weiss doesn't know what to bring. At least, not that he can acquire easily in this world. In his old world, he would have bought flowers, big, bright blooms in vivid color. Now the whole landscape looks like ash. He would have brought flowers and something to eat. Something without radiation, that was obviously expensive, finely prepared by a chef downtown, and still probably tasted bland as shit. But it would be the thought that counted.

So on the basis of “it's the thought that counts,” he picks hubflowers, because at least they're a dingey purple-blue instead of a dull wash of gray and brown. And he waits while Codsworth torches some mirelurk until it starts falling to bits and pieces at the slightest intervention of a fork. The fork itself is tarnished, but at least it's clean.

In the time it takes to travel from Covenant to the listening post, the mirelurk grows cold. He tosses it to Dogmeat, who doesn't mind. At least he still has the flowers, bundled together and wrapped in brown paper to keep the petals from being crushed.

Telling Dogmeat to wait upstairs, guard the post, Weiss takes the elevator down. As it descends, he pulls the hubflowers out. He's happy that they haven't wilted.

Below ground, Danse sits crosslegged on the single cot, a book open in his lap. He flips through the pages slowly, tracing the lines as he reads them with the tip of his finger. Out of his armor, he’ll always look oddly small. Oh, he's still broad shouldered, barrel-chested, thick arms, nice thighs, barely covered by his thin boxers. But he's also fragile. Human, despite what the database says. Weiss will never think of him as anything but human.

“Hey,” he holds the flowers in his hands. Now he's not so certain Danse will like them, something so frivolous, that will only die down here. But Weiss worries that, eventually, Danse will dry up too. Everything withers underground.

“Oh,” Danse smiles, looking up from his book. “I wasn't expecting you back so soon.” He closes the book, marking the page with a torn piece of fabric. Weiss recognizes it from one of his tees. They shredded it for cloth bandages. There must have been some left over. Climbing off the cot, Danse crosses the room to meet Weiss in the door frame. His nose comes right up to Weiss’ lips. Weiss can't help but lean forward to peck at it. In response, Danse scrunches his nose, lines wrinkling into his forehead.

“Was that really necessary?” Danse questions.

“Absolutely.”

Danse’s ears flush pink. “Hubflowers? There's no chemistry station-”

“No,” Weiss shoves the flowers into Danse's puffed out chest. “They're for you.”

“Why?”

“To make you smile,” Weiss smiles at his own cleverness, pushing the flowers deeper into Danse’s arms. The petals look beautiful against the heather gray of Danse’s tee.

“But you make me smile.” The way Danse says that is so matter of fact it nearly splits Weiss in two. Danse is so fucking earnest, about everything. Makes every word from Weiss’ mouth, and there's a lot of them, sound pale in comparison.

Weiss swings his pack around from his back to his stomach. Along its trajectory, it grazes against Danse too. He unzips the bag, pulling out a bottle of wine. They’re all “vintage” now. “I thought we could?”

“Vishnu, what is this about?” Danse shakes his head.

Weiss sets the bottle down on a long-dead control panel. It can collect dust there instead, if Danse doesn't want to drink it. “Us,” he puts his empty hands on Danse’s biceps. He likes how solid they are, because sometimes Weiss feels like he might float away. But Danse? Danse is going to hold him down to this planet. Anchor him to the core. “This is about us.” He tilts his head down so their lips meet. The flowers crush between them, they should have been more careful. While Danse kisses back, Weiss hums in satisfaction, letting his toes tap in his boots.

When they pull apart, Danse says, “What about us? I don't understand. What good are flowers?” Danse looks down between his feet, where petals have scattered on the concrete, come loose from their stems.

Weiss swallows, makes sure his words are sincere. They are. When it comes to this, to Danse, they always are. “If we lived another life, I'd want to give you more than flowers. I'd give you a life worthy of your kindness. But this is the life we have, so take the flowers, please. Let me fill you with wine until you're flushed and happy. Then let me fill you with my cock until we both forget, just for a second, that flowers are all I can give you. At least, right now.”

Danse starts breathing again, loud and all at once. “Alright.”

They don't reach for the wine, but they tangle up together on their convoluted path towards the bed. A mess of limbs and lips and teeth. Through it all, Weiss promises, this time, he won't fail. He won't lose. Because in his second life, he wouldn't change a fucking thing, if it meant losing this.

“Vishnu?” Danse places his palms flat against Weiss’s chest. His fingers start to curl. Danse’s eyes are always full of clouds now. After they've found release in each other’s comfort, they should go upstairs, outside. It shouldn't be so dangerous. Weiss didn't see any sign of Brotherhood on his way to the post. If they come. He’ll kill them. Easy. 

“Yeah?”

“Say it again. Who I am.”

“You're Danse. And you're mine.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you like terrible people and bad opinions, there's always [my tumblr](http://imperfectkreis.tumblr.com)
> 
> I'm also super into comments and kudos.


End file.
